THE COLLINATOR
by Stickittodamoneosis
Summary: [Thank You, Takkie, for the lovely title...]The story of Collins, from when he first found out he has AIDS, to the end of his life. [CollinsOC in first chapter][eventual AngelCollins]
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: Hi, I don't own RENT.**_

* * *

"Tom! Telephone!" Tom Collins' grandmother called from the living room up to his bedroom on the second floor and making him regret having left the door open last night.

"Mrrfff." Tom, known simply as 'Collins' to many of his friends, moaned as he rolled out of bed and onto the floor. He pushed his phone off the dresser and pulled it to his ear, managing to wrap the cord around his arm.

"Hello?" He mumbled.

"Collins!" A cheerful voice squeaked on the other line.

"Oh...hey baby...what do you want? It's 9 AM. You know I don't wake up until at least two..."

"Do I need an excuse to call you?" Came the innocent voice.

"This early, yes. Come on, Trista...it's the weekend." The boy on the other end of the phone laughed, practically a giggle.

"Yeah, I know."

Collins sighed. He, of course, knew this wouldn't get anywhere. His boyfriend always won this sort of thing. It didn't bother the young anarchist much, but sometime Tristan's over-spunky, spontaneous attitude works on his nerves...at least early in the morning.

"Listen, baby, I'll call you back later. I'm too sleepy. I need sleeeeep." Collins moaned. Tristan huffed through the phone.

"Fine. Remember to call me back this time."

"Alright, alright." With that, he haphazardly slapped the phone into its cradle and fell asleep on the floor where he was lying.

* * *

Collins finally woke up around lunchtime. He tried to call Tristan, true to his word, but his dad picked up the phone and stated that he wasn't there. Ever since the teenager had come out to his parents, they had been excessively paranoid about their son. Just some of that homophobic northern charm, naturally.

Running down the stairs and grabbing a nutri-grain bar off the counter, Collins stopped and sat down on the couch with his grandma.

"So how's 'The Young And The Restless' today, Gran?" He asked the elderly lady who was utterly absorbe in her television program.

"Shh. Nick and Victor are fighting."

"Anything to do with Brooke?" The geek asked.

"Wrong show. Brooke's on 'The Bold and the Beautiful'. Now hush." Gran warned.

"Hell, I can't keep them straight. They're quite tedious." Collins said in a mock-professor voice.

"They are not. And watch your mouth, young man." The woman hadn't removed her eyes from the screen the entire time, until she turned to her grandson. "Shouldn't you be at school? SATs are soon."

"Gran...it's Saturday."

"Oh." the woman paused. "I can't keep them straight anymore. They're quite tedious." She teased. Collins stuck out his tounge and finished the nutri-grain bar.

"Whatever. I'm going to Tristan's. See you in a while." Collins stated, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch.

"Tell him I said hi, will you? He's such a sweet kid." Gran said.

"Will do!" The anarchist kissed his grandmother's cheek and bounded out the door. He wasn't really in a hurry, he just hated to wait.

"Triss?" Collins called, knocking on the front door of his house. He cringed when Tristan's mother knocked on the door.

"Oh...Tom. Come in." She said quietly.

This was weird already. Tristan's mom was never even remotely nice to him, and here she was actually asking him to come in? He looked around their living room, making sure it wasn't covered in protective plastic and 'Queer-B-Gone' or rat poison or something.

"He's upstairs in his room." She stated, sniffling loudly. Just then, she noticed that she had been crying. It didn't seem good.

Collins headed upstairs and knocked on his boyfriend's bedroom door.

"Who is it?" Came the familiar voice from withing.

"It's Collins, baby. Open up."

"It's unlocked."

The computer geek turned the knob and opened the door to find Tristan lying on his bed, clutching a crumpled peice of paper for dear life. his eyes were puffy and red.

"What's that paper? What's wrong?" Collins asked, cocerned. Hed sat down on the bad and started stroking his boyfriend's curly hair gently. Tristan handed him the wadded-up ball of paper.

"I just got tested..." he whispered. "My dad made me."

Collins unfolded the paper and scanned it quickly. His face froze when he saw the words in bold print on the page.

"HIV Antibody test...positive?" He read aloud.

"You should get tested too." Tristan choked out.

"I will...but...how? You said I was the first." Collins said cautiously.

"You were..but...see, there was this party." His voice faltered. "Remember when you were in Santa Fe visiting your mom a couple months ago? Well...I was drunk, and horny, and I wouldn't have...I'm sorry, I..." His small body shook with sobs.

"A couple months ago? That's-"

"That's why I want you to get tested."

"I...I have to go. Gran will worry." He lied. He did't want to leave his boyfriend alone, but he neded to think...oh God, he needed to think.

"Okay." Tristan whispered. "Call me." he added with a brave smile. Collins returned it halfheartedly and headed out the door.

"Collins, wait." He stopped him in mid-step. "I love you."

Collins didn't move a muscle. Though it seemed cruel, he ran off quickly. He just couldn't see Tristan right now.

Once he got home, he immediately locked himself in his room. Gran may have said something to him on the way up, he didn't know. He cried silently into his pillows for what seemed like an eternity, the first time he'd cried in years.

* * *

_**A/N: Okay, this is my first RENT fanfic. I've been working on it for months. And I'm too lazy to upload. Until now, of course. Um, review. Now. Or I'll not hug you. ( but seriously. You can even flame me, they're funny...**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: Rent is awesome, as is Alice. However, Alice is not awesome enough to own RENT.**_

* * *

"And that, kids, is the end of my lecture for today. I'm expecting that essay by next week." Dr. Marten closed. "See you next week."

Collins picked up his freakishly heavy computation manual off his lap and slammed it chut. This was his least favorite class, but he was required to take it...so he lived.

When he got back to his car, a beaten up '76 Ford, the book dropped down onto the cold, hard asphalt. Sprayed in bright red letters across both sides were the words "AIDS FAG". Anger and hurt boiled in thepit of his stomach as he picked up his book and bag and flung them in the back of the vehicle.

"Dammit..." The computer genius muttered to himself as he got into the car. "I thought this shit would stop when I got out of Mt. Cary!" He spoke of the town he had moved out of four years ago and hadn't been back since his grandmother's funeral, when he was fresh out of highschool and full of dreams. Those dreams had been dashed to peices when he found out that he was, indeed, HIV positive. His ex-boyfriend, Tristan Zembrolyn, put a pistol in his mouth the same year.

Collins pulled out of the student parking lot of glorious MIT Tech and to his tiny apartment downtown, located directly over Larry's Fish Saloon (a seafood restaurant trying to pass as Texan that constantly smelled of fish).

"Hey, Loretta. What's up?" Collins said to his landlord's wife, who usually worked the register in the restaurant.

"Nice car. Get a new paintjob?" Loretta said with a sneer, handing him his key (she held onto it when he was out because she didn't trust he wouldn't loose it.) like he was a filthy disease that she wasn't to touch or even come near to for fear or contracting it.

"Thanks, Loretta." The anarchist grumbled, walking up the stairs. This wasn't exactly his day. Face hit pillow, snore, dead asleep.

* * *

Collins awoke at midnight with a maniacal, yet devious, idea. Creeping downstairs to the closed restaurant below with a screwdriver and a mind full of unused and unnoticed skill, he began working with the various television scattered throughout the main area, intended for football and baseball watching during the workday. He slowly started dissasembling them."AIEEE!!!!" Came the crowlike shriek from downstairs that woke the computer genius from his semi-pleasant slumber. Collins' own voice on full volume was saying in a monotone over and over, "Actual reality. Act up. Fight AIDS." The anarchist smirked to himself, knowing the words were also flashing in sync on every television in the building.

* * *

A howl of laughter followed the screeching. It sounded like Larry, Loretta's husband and the owner of Larry's. He was a big, balding southern guy that was never seen without a cowboy hat and boot, but Collins felt astrange, father/son connection with this man that was so often off on buisiness at his other job that the anarchist never did find out what was.

Smiling, Collins lit up a victory joint, one of his first. The hoots of laughter and the robotic droning started blending together into perfect harmony, dancing and twirling with the cloud of smoke rising up from the makeshift cigarette. It all ended abruptly when he stabbed the drug into the bottom of his shoe.

* * *

_****__**A/N: Short chapters are what I do best. Let's have a sexy party. Darn you and your catchy music, Jeffree Star...  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: My ass hurts because I don't own RENT...**_

* * *

"Please enter access code." 

"8675309." Collins said aloud as he punched the code into the keypad.

"Thank you for your buisiness." The ATM deposited a clean stack of 10-dollar bills into the money slot, which the computer genius pocketed quickly. He had rewired the ATM eralier that day, when nobody was looking. It hadn't taken very long, but he was still lucky that he didn't get caught. Sometimes, makeshift cardboard 'out of order' signs really do come in handy.

Collins started back to his apartment in Alphabet city, paper Food Emporium bag in hand. Neither him nor his roomates could ever really afford anything; such was the life of a starving artist. A lot of people like to romanticize the image, but it actually just sucks. Roger's girlfriend has recently slit her wrists in their bathtub (that was fun to clean up, April, thanks.), Maureen was constantly cheating on Mark (which he chose to ignore), and Benny was just slowly loosing his mind.

Benny was, as his old landlady Loretta would have said, "A peice-a work." He was totally out of it most of the time, but he was Collins' best friend. He seemed to understand him...or, at least, used to. Ever since he'd started dating this new girl (Muffy or something), hed been getting weirder and weirder (and by weirder and weirder, he meant more and more average). Whatever, maybe it was just a phase...

Collins stopped in front of the building and called up to the loft, using the payphone in front of the boxish apartment complex.

"Yo, Collins. Throw down the keys." He spoke into the receiver. Immediately, Maureen appeared and dropped the key to the loft down off the fire escape. When he caught them, the overenthusiastic drama queen said "SCORE!" loud enough to wake up half the tent city erected nearby.

Collins scurried up the stairs, unlocking and pushing open the sliding door with one hand, the other holding the bag of groceries.

"Greetings, whores of Avenue A." He said, coming in through the door and setting down the bag of assorted unhealty shit on the floor.

"Hey, Collins." Mark said boredly from the couch. Maureen sprang up and hugged him.

"You got food! Where'd you get it? Street performing?" If this wasn't Maureen talking, the anarchist would have thought she was kidding. Maureen did crap in the street all the time...not just for money, but because she was fucking crazy. In a good way, usually.

"No, I rewired the ATM at the Food Emporium again." Collins stated.

"Oh. You're so smart, Collins." Maureen squealed, giving him a hug again and releasing him to dive into the task of examining the groceries for and shiney things.

"What did you get?" Mark asked, gazing at Roger (who was playing his guitar randomly and kind of badly.)

"Stoli, cheetoes, cheap wine, 'zebra cakes', instant grits, and bread." Maureen concluded, pressing a Little Debbie sticker to Roger's forehead. The guitarist lifted his head and cast her an annoyed glare.

"Mr. Negative 'cause he's HIV positive." Mark muttered.

"Where's Benny?" Collins questioned, tying to change the subject.

"Out with Allison again." Mark told him.

"Again?" The computer geek moaned. "Something's into that boy. He's usually home on weekdays."

"That girl he's dating is making him loose his mind." Maureen agreed. "I don't know what he sees in her. She's not..sexy." Collins and Mark rolled their eyes in unison and wondered if their friend thought eabout anything other than sex. Ever. Probably not.

"Hey, guys!" Benny said, walking in through the door that Collins had left open.

"Benny! Where you been?" Collins asked with a smile. Benny looked his friend in the eye.

"I'm getting married."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: YAY I DON'T OWN RENT :D**_

_** A/N: Alice writes short chapters but updates often, so no head-biting-offing.  
**_

* * *

  
"Professor Collins...um...I'll be a freshman in your class this fall...um...the summer reading list...the bookstore in Dayton dind't have 'The Story Of O'...so I was wondering..." Beep.

Collins sighed and cleared the message on his answering machine. It was yet another message from a student-to-be that couldn't find some book or other for his computer-aged philosophy class at MIT.

Currently, it was the muddle of summer. Collins and a group of students (mostly the snobby and/or lazy ones with rich parents) were preparing to go on a trip to Greece to study classical philosophy and compare it to his class. Likely, the kids were just coming to lay on the beaches and watch the other scantily clad Greek people (they obviously weren't aware of the old ladies that swarmed about). Hell...he'd probably wind up joining them.

* * *

"And this is the column that Socrates helped design..." Droned the Parthenon tour guide, pointing at a worn-out, crumbling colum of the ex-temple with a baton. 

"Erm...I'll be right back." collins said quickly, hiking his blue backpack over his shoulders and heading to the row of outhouses out of the way of the ruin before the tour guide could respond.

* * *

"And, as you can see, this mold has assisted with the destruction of this beautiful structure." The same tour guide said in a monotone. Several of the students in the tour group roled their eyes, as another messed with their cell phone and yet another pulled a string of bubble gum through their teeth.

"Hey, look at that guy!" A tourist in a Hawaiian shirt shouted, pointing at a figure runnign through the Parthenon. The group, including the guide, turned to see.

"Oh My God." The tour guide mpoaned, sheilding his eyes. Half the students (mostly female) started laughing, while the other half had the same reaction as the guide.

"Oh my gah, he's naked." One girl groaned.

By the time Collins had gotten to the far end of the ruins, someone had called security. Men in dark uniforms took him away.

"What do we do now?" A girl asked the boy next to her. He shrugged.

"Caldera?"

"Will do."

With that, the students left the borign ancient structure to go to the beack. How purposeful.

Collins didn't get back until they had to leave, when one of his students bothered to have her dad bail him out.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: I don't own RENT and the ending to this chapter is crap.**_

* * *

Collins looked down at the paper folded on his desk. It was folded in three sections, the flaps pinned down by the weight of the top….okay. Time to stop stalling.

The professor grabbed it up, took in a deep breath, and looked at his T-cell count. Not far off from normal. Good.

Sighing, Collins glanced at a stack of papers at the side of his desk; another thing he'd been putting off looking at. They were student essays, and grading them really tended to make him angry.

Currently, he was sitting in his office. A soft Beethoven sonata played on the radio. Suddenly, the computer genius wondered why the _fuck _he was listening to that yuppie shit. He wrenched the dial on the small, cheap appliance to 99.3 and turned up the volume. 'Tainted Love' began to blare out of the speakers. Collins sang alone with Marc Almond as he started to grade the papers.

"Gave you-all a-boy could-give you," The professor ground out. Then, there was a knock at his door.

"Professor Collins?" A meek voice barely chimed over the throb of the music as the door opened. He waved the girl off. With an inaudible sigh, she closed the door again and left.

"Don't touch me-please- I can't stand the way you tease!" Collins stamped a blood red '67' on the paper.

* * *

"What are you doing?" A boy asked Collins. He was working on a computer, the main server in the building. The computer geek punched a few numbers of code into a text box at lightning speed before responding, "Just updating the student database."

"Oh…" The kid said. "What's wrong with it?"

Collins groaned inwardly. "That's what I'm trying to find out." He lied, humoring him. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone while I did so." He added, not looking up from the machine.

"Well, sor-ry." The student stated sarcastically, walking off.

When he was sure the boy was out of hearing range, the professor held the headset up to his mouth and said in a monotonous voice, "Actual reality! Act up! Fight AIDS!" through the microphone and earning some strange looks from the other people in the library. He took no noticed.

The computer genius typed some more codes into the copmuter and entered them into the main frame, then shut it off. He glanced into the room off the main hall of the library that housed the virtual reality equipment with a smirk. Then he left the room quickly and confidently.

* * *

A few hours later, the entire library, perhaps the entire college, was in an uproar. Collins stepped out of his office outside the lecture hall to see what the fuss was about, though he knew full well what was going on. It was kid voice, full blast, coming out of the speakers on the virtual reality system. Everything else in said system was literally shooting sparks, and something was on fire. Collins regarded this scene with a chuckle.

"Nice," he said to Professor Mendel, one of the only other professors at MIT he actually liked.

"Youre doing?" She asked with a slight laugh.

"Yep." Collins replied, taking a sip out of his bottle of Pepsi that he had just purchased from the vending machine outside the library. Together, they watched as the multimedia coordinator, a small man whose height matched his temper, threw a small fit outside the smoking room of electronics.

Soon, the dean of the college approached the two professors and placd his hand upon Collins' shoudler.

"Come with me." He ordered.

"Yes, sir." The computer genius said like an obedient dog…or at least, an obedient dog if the animal were capable of speech.

"I believe you caused the incident with the virtual reality equipment. Am I wrong?" The dean said as they sat down in his secluded office.

"No, Sir, You're not." Collins stated casually.

"In which case we're going to have to let you go. As I'm sure you're aware, you destroyed some very valuable equipment today. You're lucky we're not pressing charges." The man pulled out his checkbook and scrawled some words on a check, tearing it out and handing it to now ex-professor.

"This is your paychek for the rest of this month. You have until the end of next week to clean out your office."

"Thank you, sir." Collins said, taking the money. "Goodbye. _Ignorant bastard._"

Of course, the last part was left for after Collins left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: I said it before and I'll say it again, C-H-I-C-K-E-N-wait. I don't own RENT.**_

* * *

"Hello?" Mark answered the phone. 

"It's Collins, man. Throw down the keys."

Mark hung up the phone quickly and stepped out onto the fire escape, dropping down the set of keys with a plush panda on the ring. "Hey, Collins."

"Thanks, ya little fuck!" The ex-professor yelled up with a grin. Mark rolled his eyes and went back int othe loft.

Attempting to shove the jangling keys into his pocket, his fingers slipped and the keys fell onto the pavement. Four guys seemingly came out of nowhere. One of them had a baseball bat in his hands, and they didn't look too friendly.

Collins shoved the keys into his pocket. He barely had enough time to say "Oh, shit-" before they sprang on him.

* * *

Collins awoke in an alley a few hours later. He was hurting all over, and his coat was gone, save for one sleeve that had apparently been ripped off in the process of being removed. All he could hear was a dull ringing in his ears and the beat of the street drummer on the corner. 

The computer genius let out a long, pained moan, hoping someone would hear him. Sure enough, they did.

"Oh my god! Are you okay, honey?" A soft, feminine voice said to him. Collins opened his eyes, but everything was a blur in the harsh light of a street lamp nearby.

"'Fraid so…" He muttered, wiping at his forehead and eyes. When he looked down at his hands, he could tell they had a dark, sticky stain of blood on them. Great.

"Did they get any money or-"

"No." Collins cut the person off. "I didn't have any money, but they took my stuff." He rubbed his shoulders and shook his head (which hurt like hell), which actually made his vision clear a little bit. He could see that the person at his side was a hispanic boy, barely more than a kid, with kind eyes. Judging by the drumsticks hanging out of his pocket and the beaten plastic pickle tub by his side, he was the street drummer Collins had heard earlier.

"I'm Angel." The boy said through the silence.

"Angel?" Collins blinked, getting a clearer look at the drummer. It wasn't really a name a lot of men had, but strangely, it fit. "Indeed." He said, a grin spreading over his face. "My friends call me Collins…I'm Tom. Collins."

Angel smiled brightly at him. _Why could he feel that smile all over his body?_

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Angel said, standing up and extending his hand towards him. The computer geek took it and stood up slowly, wincing as he did and letting out an unintentional cry of pain.

"My friends are waiting for me…" Collins stutered, blushing slightly.

"You're cute when you blush," Angel giggled, causing him to blush even harder. "Come on, hurry…if you can, I guess. I have a Life Support meeting at 9:30…the more the merrier, I say."

"Life Support?" Collins inquired.

"It's a group for people with AIDS." The drummer paused. "Like me."

"Ah. Me too."

Angel grinned widely at him.

"We'll get along fine."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: 5, 4, 3, OPEN SESAME! HAPPY NEW YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR! Yeah you see that…that there…I didn't write it. I wrote this fanfic. That's it. Heehee, I dressed up as Pussy Galore earlier.**_

* * *

  
They hadn't been in Angel's apartment for two minutes before Angel sat him on the couch and ordered him to remove his shirt.

"Wh-what?" Collins stuttered, taken aback.

"I can't see what's hurt unless you take off your shirt." Angel replied firmly with a crossing of the arms.

"Oh…" The computer genius said sheepishly, removing his vest and long-sleeved t-shirt slowly. Angel whistled.

"Damn, honey." His motives were questionable. The drummer brushed some mercurochrome onto a sotton swab and ran it over a sliblty bleeding wound on Collin's chest.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked softly. Collins shook his head.

"Not really. Not anymore." The ex-professor said with a small smile. Angel grinned at him.

"Good," He said, sticking a band-aiod over the cut. Collins winced slightly.

"Eep…sorry. Did that hurt?" Angel asked, raising his hand up to the wound. Collins put his hand over the other's cautiously.

"No." He whispered. Angel looked up into his eyes. There as something in the drummer's gaze. Concern, and a shadow of…fear? He moved his face a bit closer to the other's and then turned away quickly.

"Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's fine. Just get it over with." Collins said with a lopsided grin. Angel shot him a shy smiled and carfully finished tending to his wounds.

Glancing at the crappy digital clock on the wall, Angel gasped. He then looked at the blue S'watch around his wrist to see if they really were the same.

"OH SHIT! Ohh shit…." Angel moaned.

"What?" Collins questioned.

"Life Support! I'm late."

"Oh, crap. Sorry. I'll get out of here and-"

"No, it's fine." Angel said with a small sigh, sitting next to him on the couch. "Life Support happens almost every day. Missing one meeting isn't going to be a big deal. And I think…." He turned to face the computer genius. "I think you should probably stay here tonight. Just in case. You know." A small grin spread across the drummer's face. "Maybe tomorrow we can get you a coat, huh?" He added, that trademark flirty grin appearing.

"Yeah," Collins agreed, the smile reflected in his own face. Angel yawned.

"Might as well use the time." She said. "Where do you want to slee? You can have the bed if you want. I'll take the couch,"

"Um…I guess….I'll…take the bed…then…" Collins said helplessly after a pause. Angel smiled.

"Okay. THere might be some crap all over the bed, but you can just push that stuff onto the floow." He said, opening the door. "I'll be right back. I'd ask you if you want to borrow a shirt to sleep in or something, but they're probably all too small for you…" He said with a slight giggle. Okay, what? Giggle? Nice. Wahtever.

Angel dissapeared into her bedroom to change, leaving Collins to his thoughts. Who was this guy? Why was her so nice? And…why did he seem so attracter to this boy who had picked him up off the street not knowing anything about him but his name? He already trusted him. They trusted eachother, and they'd barely been together for an hour. It was rather ironic that Collins being beaten half to death had brought them together.

Collins lost his train of thought when his savior (his Angel?) emerged from his bedroom in blue…satin…ducky pajamas? The computer geek started to crack up.

"What's so funny?" The drummer asked, though the beginings of a smirk were already beginning to appear on her own face.

"It's so fucking cute." Collins said, stifling his laughrer. Angel started laughing quietly.

"These are my favorite pajamas." She stated proudly.

"I can see why!" The professor said, pointing to a little duxk with a scrub brush on the breast pocket.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angel asked, pushing him back playfully. Collins shrugged.

"I don't know." He said. Angel rolled her eyes.

"Go to bed, honey."

"Fine," Collins said, sticking out his tounge and standing up. "Merry Christmas, Angel." He whispered, brushing his hand across the other's arm as he walked by.

"Merry Christmas," He said. "Goodnight."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I do not own RENT, Benny shall evict you...  
**_

* * *

"Collins. Coooooolllllllllins. Hey. Collins. Wake up." Somebody was poking him in the shoulder.

Collins opened his eyes to see...a woman in a red and white santa dress. _What. The. Fuck._

"Mrs. Claus?" He moaned, half asleep.

"No, silly. Angel." She giggled softly.

"You're an Angel? Huh...Merry Christmas...am I dead?" Collins turned over apathetically. Angel groaned, rolled her eyes, and pulled at his arm.

"Not AN Angel, just Angel...remember?"

"Huh?" Collins sat up and looked at Angel. "Damn." He said, amazed.

"What?" Angel said nervously.

"You look...wow."

"You like it?" Angel said, slightly embarrased for whatever reason. "I just finished it last night while you were asleep."

"On you- gu- I- wow..." Collins attempted to right his open jaw. The drummer grinned ecstatically.

"Really?" She squealed. "You like it? I was a little worried about the fur and stuff and kinf of the velvety shit and- oh, God, I'm babbling. Merry Christmas."

"It's perfect." Pause. "_You're _perfect."

Angel blushed.

"Thanks." She whispered. Collins leaned up and looked deeply into her cocoa-brown eyes. He noted the slight pink tint to her lips and thought about how different it made them look...kissable. Oh God, he really needed to stop this before it went to a bad place. He was loosing control...loosing himself...he couldn't hold it in anymore...

The computer genius, took Angel's face into his hands and pressed his lips against those pink ones. In return, she brought up her hand to rest on his cheek. Whoa, was it possible...she actually shared the feeling?

Angel broke away first, holding her chest and breathing hard, looking to him after a short time. Then, something happened that was absolutely unexpected to the ex-professor.

She started laughing.

"What's so funny?" The computer geek asked, helpless and clueless.

"I was wondering when you were going to do that." Angel giggled. "You've been looking halfway to explosion since yesterday."

Collins blushed (though he didn't completely understand that exploding comment), an expression partially and thankfully masked by his dark skin.

"Oh, really?" He asked, Against his will, his voice came out as a sort of squeak.

"Yeah, really." The drag queen said, pulling him up. "Come on, you need to take a shower. Then I'll take you to see your friends...you feeling okay?" Collins has been staring at her.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Fine." Collins nodded, feeling like a complete idiot, and walked to Angel's bathroom to go about his showerly duties.

He emerged to find Angel waiting for him on the couch.

"Hey." She said to him.

"Hey," He said back. This conversation was getting far too eloquent for the author's tiny mind.

Collins brushed his fingers over the wound on his forehead, wincing just a bit.

"How do you feel?" Anegl questioned, motioning to the cut.

"A lot better, actually." He stated, sitting down next to her. She sprang up immediately after he sat.

"What are you sitting down for? Let's go meet your people!" Angel said in a 'giddy schoolgirl' tone.

"Oh, right!" Collins said, suddenly energetic for no reason in particular. Angel grabbed his hand and helped him up once again.

"Where is this place anyways?" The drummer asked. Collins glanced out the window.

"Uh...right across the street." He laughed.

"Whoa, long walk. I don't think I'll be able to make it; you might have to carry me." Angel teased, feigning a ghastly choking noise.

"Hey wait, can we stop by the Food Emporium? Maybe we should get them some food." Angel winked.

"Good idea." The computer genius laughed and took her arm.

"Away, Batgirl!" He yelled, pounding his fist into the air. Angel laughed.

"Yeah." Then, the two flew out the window to Mark and Roger's. Well, okay, not really. They actually took the stairs. Of doom.

When they got to the top floor of the building, they stopped.

"Wait here...I'll call you in. Okay?" Collins said with her hand on his shoulder. She nodded, he smiled.

"Okay, good. I promise I won't be long." Collins picked up Angel's pickle tub and slid open the door.

"Merry Christmas, bitches!"

"Collins!" Mark cried, going over to his friend and hugging him. "Where the hell were you?" The computer genius responded with a smile and a shake of his head, then handed Mark his keys.

"Oh, hi." Roger said, passing by and obviously pretending to be cool.

"Oh, hi." Collins mocked, punching him in the shoulder. "Come on, after seven months? Idiot." He laughed and hugged a rather stiff Roger. "This boy could use-" Here he reached into the pickle tub. "Some STOLI." he thrust the tub into Mark's hands and pulled some paper cups off the top of the Stoli bottle, setting it down on the metal table in the middle of the room.

"You struck gold at MIT, man!" Roger said, eyeing the alchohol.

"Actually, no." collins said passively. "But I did get a teaching gig at NYU!"

"Oh, so that's how you can afford all this?" Mark asked.

"Bitch, please." Collins said proudly, a small smirk appearing on his face. "Sit down." He threw a bunch of crap in the tub and slid it across the room to the wall, running over to the door. "Gentlemen, may I present your benefactor on this fine Christmas day...Angel Dumott Schunard!"

With that, Angel threw open the door and glided into the room with an almost feline grace.

"Today for you...Tomorrow for me."


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N: This chapter doesn't make much sense, but it's kinda cute. 8D_**

**_Disclaimer: Don't own RENT, nope not me… for how can I, when RENT owns me?_**

* * *

****

Collins watched in awe as Angel erupted into song (Wait, song? Wow. Of course, he wasn't complaining.), complete with improvised choreography (she must have been a dancer in a past life or something, because man, that girl could dance.) and a drum solo on the table. In the end, all he could do was applaud and laugh. I mean, honestly, what else could he do? The boy was absolutely starstruck.

Angel grinned and sat down on the couch, in between Mark and Collins. Just as soon as she plopped onto the threadbare cushion, the phone rang. The group was silent for a moment, letting the call ring out before a voice sounded from the answering machine.

"Mark? Baby, please…pick up the phone?" The voice asked. "I hired Joanne as my productions manager…she doesn't know what the fuck she's doing. Please, Pookie?" Mark sighed and picked up the phone, curling the cord around his fingers.

"Hey, Maureen." He spoke into the receiver. Collins cracked up as he pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit it up; Maureen had been cheating on Mark ever since the computer genius had known either of them, and Mark had continued to follow that drama queen around like a lovesick puppy anyway…. which he sort of was, really.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Bye." Mark hung up the phone exasperatedly, a loud click that brought the professor out of his trance. Well, that and the fact that Angel had stolen his joint and was currently snaking her hand up his arm slowly. It was incredibly distracting.

"Ugh. Can you believe her? First she just casts me off like yesterday's news or something—"

Tempted to point out the oxymoron but interested in what Mark was actually saying for once (more or less, the poor kid tended to babble on every so often), Collins plucked his marijuana back from Angel's lips and looked at it, then back at Mark.

"Maureen dumped you?" He asked, taking a quick drag. His friend twitched for a moment and then nodded, looking irritated.

"Yeah. For a lawyer. Named Joanne."

At that, all three of the other people in the room exchanged glances and cracked up at Mark's expense.

"You know, you could've said no!" Collins snickered.

"I know…" Mark said sheepishly, turning away to hide his blush. The computer geek grinned knowingly.

"That's cute. You still love her. Awww."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not!"

"Do toooo…"

"SHUT UP!" Roger screeched, because Collins and Mark were gaying up the room a little too much for his tastes. With that, the two shut up.

"Honey, we have to go." Angel stated, standing up behind Collins and putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Alright." The ex-professor turned to Roger. "We're going to this…Life Support…type…thing. You coming?"

"On Christmas?" The guitarist asked doubtfully.

"Some people don't have anywhere else to go today." Angel pointed out.

"Right." Roger groaned. Angel looked up to Mark, who was in the corer emoting with his video camera, an ancient 16mm he'd stolen from his brother back in high school.

"Hey, Mark? You're welcome to come too. Life Support isn't just for people with AIDS…it's for people dealing with life. Okay?" She smiled at him. He returned the expression awkwardly.

"I'll be there, but first I guess I gotta save my ex-girlfriend's ass."

Collins smirked. "Riiiight." He made a whipping motion, complete with sound effects.

Mark groaned, and the combination of groaning and whipping for some reason caused both Angel and Roger to suddenly burst out laughing. Collins chuckled a bit at the sick and aghast look on the filmmaker's face.

"I'm just fucking with your head, chill." Collins rolled his eyes while Mark walked off with the camera without a word, apparently sick of being made fun of.

"See you later, Mark!" Angel called after him. Mark grunted in return.

"Well, Merry Christmas. Get out of the house for once." Collins said to Roger. Angel waved at him.

"Bye." She said quietly, flouncing out after Collins, who had already started out the door.

* * *

"Well, they seemed nice." Angel stated, aiming for small talk. They were headed down the sidewalk towards the Ryder Community center.

"They are…Roger's been pretty weird lately, though. Hey, what time does this thing start?"

"Um…an hour and a half." Angel stated, looking down at the bright blue 'Swatch' strapped to her wrist.

"Mind if we sit down a while?" The computer geek asked.

"Not at all." She said, pulling him down with her onto the nearest bench and sitting.

"Thanks." He said with a small laugh.

"Pleasure's all mine." Angel laughed, settling into the bench. Collins paused for a moment and then placed his arm around her shoulders. She looked at him and grinned briefly.

"You cold?" He asked the drummer. She laughed again…he loved that laugh.

"No, you're here." Angel smiled. "Hey, where'd I find you, anyway? If anyone should be cold, it's you. You don't even have a coat." She said, looking up at him.

"You found me half-dead in an alley." Collins pointed out. "Angel, you saved me." His tone was suddenly serious.

Angel blushed. "It wasn't much, you would have been fine if-"

Collins put his hand under her chin and raised her face up so her eyes met his.

"I didn't just mean finding me…you saved me." With that, he brought his face down and hissed her again. It was softer, gentler, than the one earlier in the morning. Right now, the completely conscious anarchist knew exactly what he was doing.

"It might sound presumptuous since we just met-" Collins stated after the two broke off. "But Angel… I think I love you." He admitted quietly. Angel smiled softly at him.

"Me too."

* * *

To be honest, Collins hadn't expected much of Life Support. He had been to so-called "Support Groups" in the past, and they'd never really done anything big for him. But whether it was the group itself, or just the fact that he was with (his?) Angel, he actually enjoyed the experience.

Mark came in just as they were getting started. Everyone had already introduced themselves, and Mark caused a great deal of disruption by dropping some film equipment in a folding chair. Nice.

"And you are?" Asked the leader of the group…Paul or Bob or something.

"Oh, I'm not-I don't have-I'm here with….ah…" Mark stuttered. Poor kid.

Angel waved her little finger at him…cut.

"Uhhh…" Mark muttered. "Do any of you mind if I, uh, film some of this? It's-ah- for a documentary."

The members of the group looked around at eachother passively. Nobody said a word.

"…Make yourself comfortable, Mark." Paul said with a typical nervous smile. Mark nodded and pulled up an ugly orange plastic seat in the corner of the room.

"Who wants to start?" the scrawny, pale man (not Mark) asked the small crowd of people.

"Well, I-uh." A guy raised his hand a little. Everyone was looking at him now; the short guy was probably shy. "Uh, yesterday…I found out my t-cell count was down."

Although it was only a small sentence, Collins and the group seemed enthralled already.

"And how does that make you feel?" Paul asked, sounding disturbingly like a therapist in some Freudian movie.

"I don't know…pretty good, actually. Scared out of my ass, but good." There was a light spread of chuckles around the circle, and when Collins turned to Angel, he saw that she was smiling.

"So why do you choose to be afraid?"

"I'm a New Yorker…fear is my life!"

Now the laughter was more widespread; not really because it was funny, but because he was right.

"No day but today." Angel declared, standing up. The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

She didn't notice.

She was watching Collins.


End file.
